My father often gave me the silent treatment. At one point I fell to my knees in front of him, my hands clasped as in prayer, and begged "Please take me back!"

Silence.

It was worse than a beating. At least a beating acknowledged that I was there.

On the other hand, I recently extracted myself from a parasitic co-dependent relationship. For nearly 20 years I had been anticipating his needs and bending myself to his will, I had spent thousands of dollars bailing him out of one trouble or another. I was "just an extra hand / a sullen shade at your command." I'd tried many times over the years to speak my mind and stand up for myself but was always intimidated into silent submission. Just like my mother. My parents had trained me well.

This changed when my dog Skipper passed away. Anger is part of grief, and I decided to put that anger to good use. Chihuahuas are a very stubborn breed, a big dog in a small package. Little 7-pound Skipper often gave my ex an argument and insisted on going his own way. I admired this in him and decided to honor his memory by reclaiming my space and standing up for myself. I stopped responding to commands and stopped speaking at all.

My ancestors helped with this. My family tree is very diverse and ritual silence is a mourning custom in many cultures. Although my immediate family does not practice this custom, distant blood memories kicked in and silence felt like the proper thing to do.

After a week of this, my ex consented to go to the gospel rescue mission for housing and rehab. Although we both had been raised christian and abused in the name of its god, the churchy atmosphere and strict rules at the GRM was better than being shunned. I hope it works out for him. I hope he learns to stand on his own two feet and take care of himself. He's an adult. I'm done.

Sometimes the silent treatment is the only weapon on hand for the voiceless. There's punching up, and punching down.

https://medium.com/@justin-olhipi/when-im-with-you-i-can-t-be-me-6fb49082046f